Fell Behind
by Foxieglove
Summary: There are things a man can and cannot do. Even when it means keeping to the code.


He was running already, feet pounding through sand and shallow water toward the boats at the shoreline before the guns even started firing. Several thrice-damned Navy dogs had broken from the main lines to pursue the men who'd disengaged from battle, even though their ranks were bloodied on the field and lost. There wasn't any sense in turning to fire at them, he knew, while there were laggers behind who'd do the honorable thing and take the bullets in their backs for him. Would waste precious time, it would.

Something stung past his ear and he yelped, stumbled, putting a hand to the side of his head. He half expected blood but nothing save the damn ringing. More shots behind and he did something truly inadvisable, turning to look at the state of their pursuers.

His pursuers, as it turned out. The men behind him were gone. And he knew for a fact they hadn't run on ahead.

Two of the Navy dogs were right behind him, pistols empty and swords drawn. His hand went for his own sword, knowing before he twisted all the way around that the others were ahead and he was the lagger now, the one who bought time. Hopefully his scrawnier mate had been let into a boat, under firm belief they'd meet up on the deck of the Pearl. Once on board, it'd be impossible for the lad to muck things up for himself. He could hope.

The stocky man swung his cutlass, slicing the first man's face open before taking a badly-dodged stab in the shoulder. He grunted, falling to a knee as it went in deep. Pintel took a wider swing, ripping a coat or flesh - he couldn't see what he hit anymore with the damn blood in his eyes. He knew was dead, so it mattered not. The only high point was the fact he'd gone down swinging and he tried to focus on that.

His eyes began to slide shut to keep the spinning and buzzing in his ears out, but another noise drove him back awake. Wasn't he dead yet?

A sword clashed above his head somewhere, accompanied by distressed yelling of his name.

No. God, please, on this green earth, _no_. And what about the damn Code? He'd _told_ the boy about the Code!

The pain in his shoulder was numb, nothing now. But there was something altogether excruciating to see the end of a sword protruding from that too-thin back, to be able to hear his friend choking back blood as he fought. But the lad still didn't drop. He pressed on, slicing, hacking.

With a roar of pain that didn't match up with the pierced lung he knew he'd received in the skirmish, the older pirate forced himself up again, battle-ready and devastated.

He swung and cleaved, feeling the crack of skulls against his blade. There was no survival now, nothing but cold hard knowledge that now the both of them were fallen, all thanks to some daft idiot's last loyal stand for an already dead old fool.

"Ye damned brainless dullard!" Pintel roared at the lad, so fiercely his voice managed not to break. Eyes were stinging though, too much to see everything. He wiped at them and saw Ragetti calmly touch the gaping wound in his chest. "I told you to stay with the others ahead of me! I fell behind, you damned lummox!" he spat. Not something a friend said to another dying one.

Ragetti looked up at Pintel, empty eye gaping at him but Ragetti's true mouth was a thin line of determination. "I told you before, Pint! Hell with the Code. Bloody stupid part of it anyway --"

"You're the bloody idiot, lookit you!" Overwrought, Pintel seized Ragetti's coat and hauled the boy to shaky feet, slamming open the garment. "Lookit what they've done, you git, now ye--" Pintel trailed off, staring. Ragetti's chest was bloodstained and soaked, but only a faint scratch remained now of the ghastly impalement. How by Neptune's whiskers was that possible?

"It don't matter what they've done, you great arse! It was my choice, and damn the code for all it says, I weren't leavin' ye to them buggers!" The rest of what Ragetti was yelling was lost in the cannons. Pintel only stared, mind trying to see an injury that somehow had vanished. He'd seen it . . . he'd seen the blood. Was he mad?

More Navy reinforcements shouted far off, trying to control the burning settlement. Barbossa had his fun, spent his gold with everyone else's. But he hadn't liked the way one whore had spoken of him. Compared him to Jack she had. She'd pretty much lit the burning straw herself with that gem.

Ragetti was still spouting gems of his own. His fist pounded against Pintel's shoulder, face flushed and twisted with something Pintel had never seen before on Ragetti's face. Anger. Ragetti was . . . angry with him. Furious, even.

"Not as if you ever keep to the Code your damn self! Y'always come back for me!" Ragetti was ranting. His one eye glared, though the effect was lost without its partner. "The Code ain't what's important to me!"

"It ain't _my_ stupid idea!" Pintel retorted. "Its the Code we agreed to when we sign! You follow the Code - that's what you signed! And the Code says if I falls behind, I stays behind, and you get YOUR behind _out in the clear!_"

"N-NO!" Ragetti yelled, his fists balled up. His mouth trembled for a moment and Pintel feared he might cry. Of all the absurd things to do in the middle of a fucking battlefield. The blaze had gotten out of control in the town, too much to worry about two pirates arguing amid corpses.

"You didn't! You didn't fall behind! And I didn't sign no articles either, you bugger, did I? You signed 'em! You signed my name next to yours cause _I_ can't bloody write! So th' damned truth of it is, I don't have to follow no ruddy Code! 'Specially not the part what says I have to guess whether you meet me alive at the ship or in hell!"

Rags was shaking now and he didn't look at all well. Pintel's mind couldn't help going back to a sword-wound that was no longer there and he put his hands out to steady Ragetti by his shoulders. His shock was keen when Ragetti slapped his hands away and pointed with a grimy finger. "I'm a'fightin' next to you whether ye fall, trip, stumble, or take a piss n' a tin cup when we's in battle! _I won't have it otherwise, Pint! I - I bloody well won't!_"

Pint blinked at him, still smelling the gunpowder and with the bloody sand at his feet. Their luck wouldn't hold out once the fires were under control and all the boats were to the Pearl. "Lad . . ." he tried to calm Ragetti, placing his hands again on the taller man's chest. Ragetti didn't slap them this time, but his expression begged for a reason to. " . . . it's dropped, awright? Not another word." Pintel said after a moment of floundering. The wind was out of his sails now. They still had to get to the Pearl.

"Good," Ragetti said softly, features finally relaxing. "Tha's good, then." He dropped his head, more out of habit than actual shame for his outburst. Pintel stared at him and left his hands on Ragetti's chest a moment longer than he had to before he clenched the fabric of the lad's shirt.

"Then lets' get the hell back to the ship before you waste even more of our time and luck, aye?"

Ragetti's smile was weak, but he nodded. "Aye."

Pintel started walking then. If his mind was pondering the impossibility of a sword entering and leaving a person's body without making any kind of natural mark, Ragetti wouldn't get much opportunity to think on it for the rest of the night.


End file.
